


I Wanna Be Yours

by Sleepless_Girl



Category: DCU
Genre: Falling In Love, Fuckbuddies, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Girl/pseuds/Sleepless_Girl
Summary: ❝Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought.❞Or; John Constantine's heart keeps on geggin’ in with matters of his cock.





	I Wanna Be Yours

He had never seen him like this. 

Bathed in the moonlight that seeped through his thin—and rather cheap—curtains. Which are perfect for Britain’s shit of a weather.

Pale body seemed to have been carved out of marble. Sharp edges and cracks adorned the figure; a warrior of time that spoke of different periods. Ebony hair held shards of the night sky etched into them. A shade so deep it would make all those 2000s emo antwacky seethe green. It sure as hell woulda made him jealous. Bedsheets barely concealed a used bottom, teasingly licking at pale sands. Currant red oceans who wanted to stain him as they had been done to as well.

The posh face was turned away from him, arms used as pillows. Which was a bugger. For he wished to see the usually stoic and masked face unravel until the creases and scowl left. Wished to view bitten and ripe lips, and below them the fuchsia marks. Ones which curiously held the mould of John’s mouth. The scarred back rose before falling. A breath.

A breath which made his thoughts halt. The sound was soft yet sonorous. A lullaby which sounded so human. Something that the man beside him hated being reminded of. Vengeance, bats, and all that crap. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

Rise. Fall.

He never was plenty of a romantic. Never a lad who would bring you chocolates and reds, or the kind you’ll be proud to present to your mum and dad. His affections rather hid between snarky remarks and cigarette butts. Which was well in with his current partner in bed because he himself wasn’t so jibbed at showing affection either. Or any emotion for that case. For his own affection hides in ghost touches and careful gazes. Somehow—bloody hell if he knew how!—they managed to work together. Controlled enough to at the very least work smoothly into pleasure-filled nights. Because they been at this, this casual shagging, for at least four months now. Sometimes in England, sometimes in the good ol' red, white, and blue America.

Of course, their encounter more than not ended with him waking up to an empty bed and the smell of ritzy cologne stuck to his threads. Which decorated the floor of the hotel they had stayed in—a pain in the arse if you ask him. Trying to find the other pair of his sock, or where his trousers had been thrown at. When an ol' hag is yelling at you through the door because you are to brassic to stay any second later is not a pleasurable experience.

So, maybe—though never admittingly—he understood why there’s so much gushing over the raven-haired fellow. For each night somehow made you crave more. More of the husky moans; which were jewels in themselves for Bruce was so withheld. More of your name being whispered into the dark, like a found truth. More of blue glacier eyes breaking under torrid heat which caused a lump to form in his throat as he dove in deeper. As he caused more coldness to break and fall into a warm ocean. 

Talk about climate change, eh?

The reminder that this man below him held so much power and could be so brash somehow made a certain feeling make him want to swerve. And fuck did that make his cock rise. Made his dried-up heart—

Closing his eyelids, he tried to calm down both his libido and heart. Which thumped like a horny rabbit. He passed a hand through his shaggy hair while swallowing a fair bit of saliva. 

Fuckin’ ridiculous were these thoughts he was having. Then again, John Constantine never claimed to be a sane bloke. He was sure there were some missing screws here and there.

Opening his eyes, he continued to stare at him. Him which was causing… thoughts to pop up in his heads like perky little weasels. Him who was slowly and unconsciously luring out a demon with blond hair and an English accent.

Fuckin’ (literally and figuratively) Bruce Wayne. 

He needs a bloody smoke.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done the character of John Constantine. In that case, I apologize if he seems out of character in this short story. I just really wanted to contribute to this ship that seems to be so underrated. And yes. This was inspired by the Arctic Monkeys song. 
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
